Chapter 18

— Nolan's POV —

I thought I'd feel free once he left.

No more intense eyes following my every step. No more distorted boundaries. No more twisted conversations that felt like walking a tightrope between sanity and something else entirely.

Varek was discharged today.

Finally.

I told myself I could breathe again.

And for a while, I believed it. The hospital halls felt calmer, quieter. No more pressure building in my chest every time I passed Room 13. I even smiled at a nurse in the elevator—something I hadn't done in weeks.

But deep down, beneath all that false relief, something felt… wrong.

Like something in the air had shifted — not lightened, but darkened in a different way.

I shook it off.

It was just exhaustion.

I reached my apartment late. The streetlight flickered above the entrance, and the night felt colder than usual. I pulled my keys out, headed up the stairs, and paused.

The doormat.

It wasn't where I left it.

It was pushed slightly to the side — like someone had moved it, or stepped under it, or…

I swallowed hard and shook my head. You're paranoid, Nolan. You've been paranoid for days.

Still, I hesitated before unlocking the door.

The second I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong.

It was dark. Not just dim, but unnaturally dark. Like the light from the hallway refused to follow me in. I reached blindly for the switch near the door—nothing. The power wasn't out… the lights had been turned off.

Someone had been here.

Or was here.

The silence was suffocating.

I stood frozen, vision adjusting slowly to the outlines of my apartment. Furniture like shadows. Corners too deep. A chill ran down my spine.

My pulse spiked.

Without thinking, my hand flew to my pocket and grabbed my phone.

And without hesitation, I dialed him.

Varek.

My fingers shook. The line barely rang once before—

A sudden force slammed into my back.

I stumbled, hitting the wall hard, the phone slipping from my hand. My knees scraped the floor as I turned—blinded by the darkness—and a hand snatched the phone before I could grab it.

Click. Call ended.

Then a glint of something sharp.

A knife.

The blade caught what little light there was as the figure moved toward me—fast, silent, no words.

I tried to crawl backward, but my shoulder hit the leg of the table. The man lunged.

The knife caught my upper arm. Not deep—but it stung, a flash of hot pain.

"What do you want?!" I gasped.

No answer.

Just the sound of the blood roaring in my ears—and then—

CRASH.

The door burst open so hard it cracked the frame.

Varek.

He was there.

Like he'd never left.

Like he'd been just downstairs, waiting for me to call him.

The figure turned toward him. They struggled. Fists, elbows, movement too fast to follow in the dark.

Varek shoved him back into the wall, and the attacker slipped, stumbled, then ran. Gone. Just like that.

Varek moved to follow him—one foot already halfway out the door—but I reached out blindly and grabbed his arm.

"Don't," I whispered. My voice trembled. "Don't go."

My voice sounded foreign in my throat.

He froze.

His body tensed like he might still chase him—but my grip didn't loosen. I didn't even fully know why I did it. I just… couldn't be alone right now.

I held on.

And slowly, he turned back to me.

His breathing was rough. Blood trickled down from a fresh cut along his arm. His shirt sleeve was torn, and I could see the raw edge of skin beneath.

But his eyes weren't on the wound.

They were on me.

I was trembling. Shaking so hard I could barely breathe.

And without another word, Varek pulled me into his arms.

His embrace was tight, steady — grounding.

My body sagged against him. My mind couldn't process anything except the fact that he came. That I wasn't alone in that dark room.

"I told you," he said softly, lips near my ear, "they're not just nightmares. This is real."

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

"I'm not going to leave you here," he whispered. "You're coming with me now. No more arguments."

I still said nothing.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, and his tone changed — sharper now. Not cruel. Just final.

"If you say no, I'll carry you. That's not a threat, it's a promise."

Then, quietly, more to himself than to me, he added:

"Your life is more important than your stubbornness."

He picked up my phone — screen cracked, call history still open with his name on it.

And then, he took my hand.

I didn't resist.

I let him take me out of the apartment. Out of the dark. Out of that suffocating space where someone tried to silence me.

Maybe I should've been afraid of him.

But right now…

I was more afraid of everything else.